第 125 页

(And I love this AU! Not ready to leave yet.)

Lost is my heart, but my new soul stays

Chapter Summary

On to the next stories…

Chapter Notes

0. People from Tumblr will recognize the opening to this chapter. Many thanks to the anon who sent me the prompt! Thanks also to emilyenrose, for her diligent and thorough excavation of all my Fingon and Maedhros feelings.

1. I know I joked I would never finish DWMP, but unlike certain Elves, I swore no oaths as to the fact. And so here we are.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tirion

“I’m nervous. Why am I so nervous?”

“Everyone gets nervous before dinner with their in-laws,” said Fingon soothingly, his hand on Maedhros’ waist. “I mean, I assume. The only reason I don’t get nervous with your parents is because they have never invited me over for dinner.”

“But they’re not really my in-laws,” said Maedhros, fiddling fretfully with the bow on the bottle of wine he was holding. “The ‘in-law’ part would require us being, you know, married. In the eyes of the law.”

“I can change that real fast if you’d like,” said Fingon, grinning and making to go down on one knee.

Maedhros grabbed him. “No!”

“Wow, ouch,” said Fingon, but he was still looking amused as he straightened up. “Everything they say about Fëanorions and cold feet is true.”

“Oh, stop,” said Maedhros. “It’s not that, but if you proposed to me while kneeling in dogshit on the sidewalk in front of your parents’ house – ”

“It would just be emblematic of what I put myself through for you,” said Fingon cheerfully, and then caught sight of Maedhros’ face. “Just kidding.”

“Anyway,” said Maedhros, trying to move on from the proposal issue as if it was only to do with his own discomfort, “your parents aren’t my in-laws. They’re my aunt and uncle.”

“Yikes,” said Fingon. “Would you believe I sometimes forget that?”

“My dad doesn’t let me forget it,” said Maedhros gloomily. “I know he’s ‘trying’ and all, but it’s amazing how he never forgets the ‘half’ part unless he’s talking about ‘Nelyafinwë’s cousin - sorry, boyfriend.’”

“Charming man, your father. No wonder it’s taken you nearly two years after moving in to come have dinner with my folks.”

“God, really that long? That makes me sound terrible.”

“You are terrible.” Fingon shook his head sorrowfully. “I only put up with it for the d– ” He clamped his lips shut as Maedhros turned a beleaguered face upon him, and instead gestured Maedhros chivalrously up the sidewalk towards Fingolfin and Anairë’s house.

Maedhros dragged his feet as Fingon turned up the walk to the front door. He was clutching the wine bottle in front of him now, his sweaty hands making the bow go limp. “But listen, what if they’re still mad at me for what happened your junior year? I always thought maybe your dad would have preferred if you’d ended up with that Glamdring guy or whatever his name was – ”

“Gelmir.”

“And what if they’re still mad at me because of the Alqualondë settlement? What if they’re mad it took me this long to come visit? What if they’re still mad at me because I’m related to my dad?” His sweaty fingers squeaked on the wine bottle. “You know, I could see about getting my last name changed. I’ve considered it before.”

Fingon rolled his eyes and walked back a few paces to retrieve him. He hooked his arm through Maedhros’ and tugged him up the steps. “Slow your roll, Fëanorion. My parents are just glad we’re living in sin together now rather than me living in sin in your brothers’ house five nights a week.”

Maedhros relaxed slightly as Fingon bumped reassuringly against his side and he let himself be pulled towards the house. They paused on the front steps, and Maedhros looked down at Fingon. “You liked sinning in that house,” he said, brushing a finger under Fingon’s chin to lift his face.

“I did,” said Fingon, and there was a glint in his eyes that made Maedhros want, suddenly, to retreat into the hedge with him and sin some more. “But sinning in a queen sized bed gives my creativity so much more scope, you know?”

There was a cough from the other side of the door, and the outside light flickered, like someone was leaning on the switch. “Can I ask you two to ring the doorbell and come in already?” said a slightly muffled voice from within.

Maedhros flushed to his hairline, and dropped the wine bottle.

Fingon caught it before it hit the ground, and rang the doorbell just as the door swung open. “Hey, Dad,” he said cheerfully. “Can I introduce you to my live-in cousin, Maitimo?”

* * *

Blue Hills Distillery

Azaghâl knocked on the door of Telchar’s office and then pushed his way in without waiting for an answer. He had his nose buried in a sheaf of papers and sat down in the extra chair in front of Telchar’s desk without looking up from them.

“Can I help you?” asked Telchar drily, after a minute.

“Have you seen these numbers?” Azaghâl looked up and waved the top sheet of paper.

“What’s that? Oh, the report Caranthir prepared.” Telchar shifted and tapped her fingers absently on her desk. “Yes, I have seen it.”

“That kid is worth his weight in gold. Literally every project he recommended we pursue has paid dividends, sometimes double what you and I predicted. Either he’s a genius or he’s that good luck charm we’ve been looking for.”

Telchar raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Something like that.”

Azaghâl shook his head and returned his attention to the report, shuffling through the dog-eared pages. “Whichever it is – hell, if it’s both – we can’t let him get away. I don’t care what we have to pay him, we need him on the team. He’s invaluable.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” said Telchar. “He’ll hold us hostage for a fortune if he knows we need him too bad, when really we should pay him less since he’s young, green, and not even a CPA yet – ” She broke off with a muffled curse and jumped like some unseen insect had bitten her.

“Whatever it is,” said Azaghâl vaguely, eyes riveted to the accounts, “we should pay it. We’re very close to being out of debt, which is insane. Let’s hire him before someone else does.”

“Go for it,” said Telchar, but she was looking suddenly twitchy and not looking at Azaghâl. “I leave his hiring in your capable hands. Was there anything else? It’s just that I’m a very important and busy person with things to do...”

“Sure, sure.” Azaghâl shook his head one last time in grudging admiration, stroked his beard, and got back up. “The new hops are in, by the way. I’m going to go supervise unloading. You want to help me with – ”

“I’ll join you when I finish a couple things.”

Azaghâl nodded and left, still stroking his beard and looking happy.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Telchar pushed back from her desk with a long exhale. “You little bastard.”

Caranthir clambered out from under the desk and straightened up. He was flushed but there was a smug glint in his eyes as he buttoned up his pants. “ ‘Invaluable,’ I think he said. ‘Genius,’ too. I think genius is worth a 15% bump in options, don’t you?”

“Little prick,” muttered Telchar, smoothing her hair. “That was the worst goddamn thing for you to overhear.”

“Little prick?” Caranthir smirked at her. “There was nothing little about it 20 minutes ago when you were on the desk and I was – ”

“Sex and money make you unbearably cocky,” growled Telchar, but she was grinning too as she opened her filing drawer and got out the shirt she’d hastily stuffed in there. “I’d cut you off from both if I didn’t enjoy the results so much.”

“Highly unethical,” said Caranthir, lounging against the corner of the desk and pulling the shirt from her hands and over his head. “The person in charge of my paycheck shouldn’t also be the person in charge of, well –”

“Other transactions? And why do you think I’m going to have Azaghâl handle your hiring negotiations and remove myself from any direct supervisory position?” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you get any ideas about seducing Azaghâl to improve your offer.”

“He’s not my type.” Caranthir folded his arms. “But I’m not going to forget that you were going to screw me out of a salary bump just because I’m not certified yet.”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to forget that you jabbed me like that just because of an innocent and completely unserious comment I made to my cousin in ostensible private.” Telchar winced and rubbed her inner thigh.

Caranthir curled his lip, but his dark eyes glinted. “Salary negotiations are nothing to joke about.” He bent down for his belt, but Telchar stopped him, her foot coming up to plant gently against his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Picking up my shit. I thought you had to go supervise hops or whatever.”

“I told Azaghâl I had something to finish first,” said Telchar softly, and Caranthir flushed anew at the gleam in her eyes. “We have to celebrate your impending job offer, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir, and began unbuttoning his pants again. “Yeah, that’s true. Get on the desk, won’t you?”

* * *

Tirion again

Despite Maedhros’ secret conviction that Fingolfin and Anairë would poison his portion of the roast, the dinner went well.

The wine helped.

In fact, one dinner at Fingolfin and Anairë’s turned into another, a week later. That dinner turned into staying for the weekend, as Fingolfin and Fingon talked campaign strategy for hours in Fingolfin’s study, and Anairë and Maedhros drank coffee on the screen porch and debated charter schools.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” said Fingon, finally extricating himself from Fingolfin’s war room and coming over to perch on Maedhros’ deck chair with him. “I know I promised to actually take some time off while we were here. Is that coffee still any good?”

“Depends,” said Maedhros, watching Fingon take a sip. “The coffee is still warm, but it’s over here.” He lifted the mug in his hand. “I’m pretty sure that’s the cup your mom put under the hole in the roof to catch drips.”

Anairë drew her feet up as Fingon spat dirty water onto the floor, and Maedhros looked both amused and repulsed.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Maedhros asked, as Fingon scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and looked at his mother with betrayal in his eyes. “I haven’t been back to this town in ages…”

* * *

Beleriand: Turgon and Finrod’s Apartment

Turgon laid his cards down on the table. “My win, I believe.”

Finrod sighed and propped his chin on his hand, eying Turgon’s cards resignedly. “It does look that way, doesn’t it.”

Turgon looked smug. “What’s the damage?”

Curufin, who had folded a round before, surveyed the pot. “Let’s see, seven dollars in mixed bills, a condom – expired, so mind how you go – a pack of gum, and – oho, a public confession.” He picked up the sticky note scrawled with ‘I.O.U’ on one side and ‘Humiliating secret’ on the other. He raised an eyebrow and mirrored Finrod, propping his chin in his hand. “Now that’s interesting.”

“Oh, please.” Finrod rolled his eyes as he gathered up the cards. “Between the two of you you know all my embarrassing secrets if anyone does, let us not revisit them. Whose idea was it to ante up secrets when we ran out of money, anyway?”

“Yours.”

“Well,” said Finrod, pushing the pot over to Turgon, “I am very sorry, Turno, but as there is nothing for me to publically confess – ”

“Does Curufin know about the karaoke incident?” Turgon blinked angelically, and Finrod froze.

“No,” said Curufin, straightening up and looking avidly between them. “He doesn’t. What karaoke incident? ”

“There is,” said Finrod tightly, “no karaoke incident.”

“So there was this competition,” said Turgon loudly, sticking the pack of gum into his pocket and the condom into his wallet. “And it came down to just Ingo and this one other – ”

“SHUT UP.” Finrod looked uncharacteristically wild-eyed. “You promised – we made a pact – we do not speak of the karaoke incident.”

“Why, did you lose?” Curufin stared at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at that sort of thing? I thought you were good at that sort of thing.”

“No. Shut up. Not a story. Listen, I probably have more money in my car if you want it, Turukáno – ”

“And then,” said Turgon, grinning fiendishly, “then, at the end – ”

Finrod sprang at him, sending quarters and cards flying, and wrestled him off the chair to the ground.

“What happened at the end?” demanded Curufin, hanging off his own chair to ogle them.

“Nothing!” Finrod tried to sit on Turgon’s head.

“ – and then,” gasped Turgon, “at the end, he fell flat on his face – in front of his chair – ”

“We are no longer friends,” said Finrod, with as much composure as he could muster while trying to smother Turgon. “Kindly return the friendship bracelet I made at JCC camp in 1997.”

“He tried to compete under a fake name, too,” Turgon told Curufin, from under Finrod. “But he was too drunk to come up with anything better than ‘Dornif’ – ”

On the table, where it had been abandoned, Curufin’s cell phone rattled against the scattered coins.

“Don’t you have to take that?” said Finrod, as Turgon chortled beneath him. “It might be important.”

Curufin, still looking preoccupied and fascinated, reached for his phone. He read the message, reread it, and held up a hand. Turgon and Finrod stopped struggling.

Curufin read it a third time, as if needing the confirmation, then snapped his fingers at them. “It’s happening. Code blue.”

“What!” Finrod and Turgon tried to spring up at the same time, smacked heads, and collapsed to the ground again. They rose more sedately, rubbing their heads and looking excited.

“What does this mean?”

“It means we deploy for Mithrim Lake immediately to prepare things and wait.”

Turgon righted the chair and dashed off to grab his coat while Finrod straightened his shirt and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He stood to grab his own phone from the table, and Curufin’s hand landed on his wrist. “We are about to get distracted for a while,” said Curufin softly. “But believe me,” his eyes glinted, and he couldn’t keep a smirk from stealing across his face. “We are not done talking about the ‘Karaoke Incident’…”

“Oh, lovely.”

* * *

Tirion High

Maedhros started their walk at the old high school grounds.

Fingon had been skeptical at first – “Goodness, a public school, how scenic” – but he was soon chortling as he pointed out the markers of various milestones and reminisced at length while Maedhros listened patiently.

As they rounded the back of the gym, Fingon gestured to a bricked-in courtyard. “This is where I first got made Ultimate captain.” His fingers twitched in Maedhros’ hand, like they were remembering the feel of a disc, or like he was counting how long it had been since he’d last thrown one. “I always liked the sound of the title, you know, even if the responsibilities weren’t quite my thing.”

They crossed down past the oval of the outdoor track, and Fingon pointed again. “Aaand this is where I got demoted from being Ultimate captain because we decided that kind of hierarchy wasn’t really in line with the Ultimate philosophy. Also, I kept skipping practice to hang out with some college kid.” He winked at Maedhros, and Maedhros, who still felt slightly guilty about impacting teenage Fingon’s extracurricular life, managed to wink back.